Moonrise

66 of 73 · 1 min of reading

I AWOKE in the Midsummer not to call night, |in the

white and the walk of the morning:

The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe | of a

finger-nail held to the candle,

Or paring of paradisaïcal fruit, | lovely in waning but

lustreless,

Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, | of

dark Maenefa the mountain;

A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, | en-

tangled him, not quit utterly.

This was the prized, the desirable sight, | unsought, pre-

sented so easily,

Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, | eyelid and eyelid of

slumber.

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End of part 66 of 73